Chapter 140: Roman Dmitry's People (4)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 140: Roman Dmitry's People (4)
In this tournament, the faster a match ended, the faster that group progressed.
While Kevin kept a close, competitive eye on him, Chris didn't pay him the slightest attention. No matter what anyone thought of him, he was completely consumed by a single purpose.
'I am the sword that represents my liege. Only by utterly crushing whoever stands before me will people never dare covet my lord's position.'
The Northeast Association still didn't understand reality. If they had witnessed even a fraction of what Roman Dmitry had unleashed on the battlefield, they never would have made the foolish mistake of opposing Dmitry. That was why he wanted to show them. He would make them understand exactly why he chose to follow Roman Dmitry. Through his own martial prowess, he would force them to feel the sheer, insurmountable heights of his liege.
His second-round opponent was bold.
As if to prove he was entirely different from the first, he charged at Chris with his aura flaring.
Rumble!
Clack.
Chris pointed his sword forward. He didn't retreat a single step. Staring dead ahead, he stepped right into the path of the incoming blade.
Clang!
Screeech!
The match was decided in an instant.
Chris deflected the opponent's blade and struck a vital point in the exact same motion, bringing the man down.
It took a mere five seconds.
As the swordsman staggered and collapsed to the floor, the spectators—who had been clenching their fists in anticipation—stared back and forth between the two in utter bewilderment. It was an overwhelmingly one-sided slaughter. Even considering his performance in the first round, no one expected him to finish the second in just five seconds.
'Still not enough.'
A deep thirst welled up inside him.
As he stepped down from the stage, Chris's eyes burned with intense desire. It wasn't just about finishing quickly; he needed to be so overwhelmingly dominant that people wouldn't even dare look at Roman's shadow.
Round 3.
This time, Chris took the initiative.
He unleashed an overwhelming onslaught from the very start, ruthlessly pushing his opponent back until a decisive blow finally landed.
Eight seconds.
This opponent lasted slightly longer than the previous two. He had some skill, but not enough to break the ten-second barrier.
"...Wow."
"Was Chris always this strong?"
"During the Great Warrior Battle against Barco, he wasn't nearly this powerful. What on earth happened on the Southern Front?"
The crowd marveled.
Just as Chris intended, they reacted with pure awe. But as the tournament progressed, Chris's body only burned hotter.
'More. More.'
Like a parched desert, no matter how much he tried to quench his thirst, he remained unsatisfied. He believed that only an absolute, undeniable victory could truly prove Roman's greatness.
His fourth-round opponent was cautious.
He played strictly defensively, refusing to make a single hasty move.
Thud!
"...!"
Yet, it took only ten seconds for him to collapse backward, his eyes losing focus.
Four matches.
Four victories.
The crowd's astonished gazes locked onto Chris. With only the final match remaining, his burning desire reached its absolute peak.
'The finals.'
He didn't even spare a glance for his fallen opponent. As if the previous matches were nothing but dust, Chris kept his eyes fixed solely on what lay ahead.
* * *
Before the first round had even begun, a specific group of people arrived at the tournament venue.
Watching his subordinates line up in perfect order, Knight Commander Jonathan spoke in his characteristically dignified voice.
"As you all know, this tournament is hosted by Young Master Roman Dmitry. It is also the stage where Chris, the former Vice Captain of the Dmitry Knights, is competing. Watch closely. See what kind of performance your senior displays, and use it as a standard for how you should carry yourselves as knights of Dmitry."
"Understood!"
"Yes, sir!" his subordinates replied in roaring unison.
After Roman's departure, the Dmitry family had expanded its overall military forces. The Dmitry Knights, in particular, had recruited new blood to fill the massive void left by Chris. The men accompanying Knight Commander Jonathan today were those very recruits—greenhorns who still didn't know the ways of the world. Jonathan wanted to use this opportunity to show them exactly what kind of Vice Captain the Dmitry Knights once possessed.
'Chris.'
Jonathan watched his former disciple step onto the stage for the first round.
A wave of emotion washed over him. It felt like only yesterday that he had taken in a clueless boy as his student, but Chris had grown rapidly, now cutting a magnificent figure. Rumor had it that he had achieved significant merit on the Southern Front. Having witnessed Chris's explosive growth under Roman, even if only for a short time, Jonathan was eager to see how much further the young man had progressed.
Finally, the first round began.
Just as everyone's attention locked onto the stage, the opposing swordsman sprayed blood and collapsed in the blink of an eye.
Thud!
It was a complete massacre. Seeing Chris bring down his opponent as if it were the most natural thing in the world, the new knights gaped in sheer shock.
"Whoa."
"...That was way too overwhelming."
Knight Commander Jonathan was equally bewildered.
Chris's opponent, Max, was no pushover. He was a swordsman who had made quite a name for himself in the Northeast region, so Jonathan had never imagined Chris would win so effortlessly.
'Does this mean he has made another massive leap in progress?'
His heart pounded.
His disciple's growth was a joyous thing. If it had stopped there, Knight Commander Jonathan would have been nothing but happy.
Round two, five seconds.
Round three, eight seconds.
Round four, ten seconds.
In the matches that followed, Chris's dominance remained absolute. Just like the new knights who were too stunned to even collect themselves, Knight Commander Jonathan was thrown into deep shock.
'What on earth is this...?'
Jonathan was different from the other spectators. He had watched Chris grow since childhood and had personally guided him to become known as the genius of Dmitry. He knew Chris's potential inside and out. Even when Chris had performed brilliantly in the Great Warrior Battle against Barco, Jonathan had thought it was well within the realm of his natural talent.
But the results unfolding before his eyes now were a completely different story.
It defied common sense.
It went far beyond the norm.
If there were a graph of his growth, Chris's steeply rising trajectory had literally shattered the ceiling.
One of the new knights spoke up.
"Knight Commander Jonathan, I think I finally understand why you emphasized that we must work hard. To think such an incredible swordsman once held the position of Vice Captain of our Dmitry Knights... We must do our absolute best so we don't bring shame to his legacy. I will take this to heart and dedicate myself to training even harder from now on."
The recruits' eyes burned with a new fire. They knew Jonathan was Chris's master, and they naturally assumed that such incredible skill had originated from Jonathan's teachings.
It was a positive outcome. Whatever the reason, they had gained a powerful motivation to train.
However, Jonathan couldn't bring himself to smile.
As Chris approached a certain individual and deeply bowed his head, Jonathan's gaze locked onto that man.
'Roman Dmitry.'
It was clear. The starting point of this entire miracle was none other than him.
With goosebumps breaking out all over his body, Knight Commander Jonathan couldn't take his eyes off Roman.
* * *
Group 1, which included Chris, was packed with strong contenders.
Yet, contrary to everyone's evaluation of it as the "group of death," the matches progressed at an absurdly rapid pace.
"I forfeit."
"Rather than facing a monster like Chris and being publicly humiliated, it's better to just end it here."
The swordsmen scheduled to face Chris chose to withdraw. Most of them had advanced through byes, but after witnessing his overwhelming displays, they realized their chances of winning were practically nonexistent.
Now, only the final match remained.
Ahead of the finals, the crowd shifted their focus to a new point of interest.
"Can Farrell beat Chris?"
"Absolutely impossible. Even though they're both 2-Star Aura Swordsmen, Chris's swordsmanship is on an entirely different level."
"Still, he should be able to last more than ten seconds, right? Looking at the matches so far, the time increased slightly with each round. Surely a swordsman of Farrell's caliber won't lose in just ten seconds. I'll bet one silver that Farrell lasts at least thirty seconds."
Farrell's defeat was taken for granted.
The only question was how quickly Chris would bring him down.
Although Chris had shown overwhelming skill so far, Farrell was a renowned swordsman in his own right, specifically famous for his defensive style. It was a clash of opposing styles. Even with Chris's aggressive approach, the crowd expected him to struggle at least a little bit this time.
"Both contestants, onto the stage."
The time had come.
As the two swordsmen stepped onto the stage, Farrell looked visibly tense. Deep down, he wanted to forfeit, but his hard-earned reputation prevented him from making such a cowardly choice.
'To be honest, I don't have the confidence to beat Chris. But holding out is a different matter. Since all the other swordsmen lost within ten seconds, if I can just hold out for a single minute, my reputation will skyrocket. Farrell, let's just survive for one minute. Who knows? If I do my best, I might even find an opening to strike him down.'
He steeled his resolve and gripped his sword tightly. He acknowledged Chris's strength, but he didn't believe the man was completely invincible.
It was then.
Flutter!
The duel began.
Farrell flared his aura, fully intending to block whatever attack came his way.
And that...
Flash.
Thud.
...was the last thing he remembered.
* * *
A heavy silence fell over the tournament venue.
Everyone acknowledged that Chris was strong, but this was beyond belief. They had expected this match to take at least some time, yet the moment the duel began, Chris had brought his opponent down in a single second.
"H-How did he bring him down?"
"I didn't even see him swing his sword."
The crowd was thrown into utter confusion. Even the referee stood dazed. Snapping out of his stupor, he hastily raised his voice and shouted,
"W-With this, Chris has become the winner of Group 1! Everyone, please give a warm round of applause and cheers for the victor!"
Victory.
It was an astonishing achievement. Faced with such an overwhelming result, the crowd looked up at Chris in pure awe.
'My swordsmanship worked.'
The technique he had just used to bring Farrell down was Lightning. It was based on the martial arts of the Lightning Sword, but infused with his own personal style.
'Master Jonathan once taught me his secret technique. It increased the speed of the sword by amplifying the explosive power of one's aura. It was highly similar in form to Lightning, and I have spent my time researching ways to harmonize the two. Finally, I have achieved results.'
Roman's teachings.
Chris had never been content with simply copying what he saw and heard. Drawing from his own knowledge and his own world, he had researched new ways to adapt those techniques into something uniquely his.
Farrell, collapsed unconscious on the floor, was the proof of that research.
Chris sheathed his sword. Leaving the roaring cheers of the crowd behind, he stepped down from the stage with a calm, indifferent face. As if it were nothing. He didn't show even a hint of joy over the victory itself.
Group 1's victor was decided.
Across a total of five duels, it had taken Chris a mere twenty-seven seconds to claim the group's top spot.
That result was more than enough to strike sheer terror into the hearts of the Northeast Association.
* * *
"...What on earth is happening here?" a noble muttered.
From beginning to end, absolutely nothing was going according to plan. Chris had completely dominated his opponents, and even the Dmitry men classified as weak links were steadily bringing down their adversaries.
A cold dread washed over the nobles.
Group 1 was already decided.
In Group 2, looking at Kevin's overwhelming martial prowess, it seemed utterly impossible to snatch the victory from him.
In Groups 3 and 4, Volkan and Puki weren't quite as dominant as the first two, but as they pushed their opponents back with their monstrous physical strength, the opposing swordsmen collapsed miserably one after another. Their victories also seemed virtually guaranteed. Their massive, bulging muscles seemed completely impervious to any attacks thrown at them.
Group 5 was an utter anomaly.
Henderson was supposed to have been eliminated in the first round, yet he had somehow brought down his opponents and steadily climbed his way up the bracket.
Thus, their only remaining hope lay in Group 6.
The one-armed swordsman. No matter how they looked at it, McBurney seemed to be the only weak link.
Right on cue—
Thud!
"Henderson has secured his advancement to the third round!"
With Henderson's victory, the nobles' gazes turned toward a single person.
"...Viscount Conrad."
"Now, you are our only hope, Viscount."
McBurney's third-round opponent was none other than Viscount Conrad's swordsman.